


Doing My Duty

by Lokifan



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Begging, Coming Untouched, Dom Harry Potter, Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Alternating, Somnophilia, Spanking, Sub Spike (BtVS)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-15
Updated: 2008-07-15
Packaged: 2019-05-09 01:43:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14706740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokifan/pseuds/Lokifan
Summary: Harry meets a vampire in a pub. Being an Auror, it’s his public duty to keep an eye on the vamp, and keep him under control.





	Doing My Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Written for thematic_hp’s D/s and BDSM round, prompt 12: _Harry meets Spike in a bar in England, he's an anomaly and Harry spots straight away that the vampire needs to feel like he belongs. The Wizard takes the reins and Spike falls easily under the young man's control (loving consensual BDSM)._ This also corresponds to the AWDT prompt _“Because I said so.”_

The King’s Head was Harry’s favourite pub because it was ordinary. It seemed to have collected all the trappings of a traditional pub and compacted them, until just walking into the place brought a rush of familiarity, whether you’d been there before or not. There was a selection of beer and lager but not much wine; there was a dartboard and a faded, fuzzy carpet with an indecipherable pattern; there were three men who huddled at the bar after work, every day without fail. Harry sometimes wondered if they were being paid to add to the King’s Head’s ambiance. There was a sign outside the pub that proudly declared: SERVING LONDON SINCE 1867. Harry would be willing to bet it hadn’t changed since.

It might seem odd to choose such a place to start off his nights out – not the nights he spent laughing with Ron and dancing with Hermione, but the nights when he indulged his craving for a pretty boy who’d obey him and let him take care of everything, stare up at him with enormous trusting eyes, let him fuck and suck and spank until the boy was exhausted and sweaty and covered in come. Harry’s craving for familiarity had once been the stuff of legend. But since he’d allowed it to lead him into a relationship with Ginny, a pretty girl he barely knew, Harry had let go of that. At the age of twenty-three, he was pursuing happiness instead.

Yet still, he came here. It was quiet, and no one bothered him. He could get himself into the headspace: dominant and disciplinarian. Besides, Harry’s other favoured pubs were all near the Ministry, where he headed for a pint after work. He didn’t relish the thought of meeting another Auror on one of these nights: those more skilled at Legilimecy would surely see the whimpering, arching, moaning boys squirming in his mind.

He entered and waved a hello to Les, the bartender. Les nodded to him and raised the glass he’d been giving a cursory rub. “The usual?”

Harry came over to the bar. “Yeah, great.” Harry wore his usual understated club gear for nights out with his friends and nights at more... specific clubs both: black jeans, tight T-shirts. But with his mates he’d get Guinness; these nights, it was always whiskey. Harry wondered where he’d picked up the idea that whiskey was for dissolute sophisticates. Lucius Malfoy drank whiskey, didn’t he?

He stood at the bar and sipped his Glenfiddich, listening to the silence. This was an Auror meditation technique but it could be used for other purposes than detecting... danger...

His eyes narrowed.

There was something here that hadn’t been there before. The awareness jangled at his senses like one out-of-tune instrument in an orchestra. An anomaly; something out of place and unexplained. And if it was sending his Auror’s alarm bells ringing so loudly, it was dangerous too.

He picked up his whiskey and sipped it, holding it in front of his face as his eyes scanned the pub. No... just the regulars, and a sweaty man who looked in need of a sit down... there! In the corner.

A man, tucked away in a corner booth. Now he was neither familiar, nor ordinary. The shadows he was swathed in couldn’t hide the white, bleached hair, or the air of menace. They didn’t conceal the cut-glass cheekbones and plush lips, either. Harry raked his eyes over the man, taking in his pretty face and the black leather duster that screamed ‘attitude’. Harry imagined fucking the attitude right out of him until he was grateful for the chance to take Harry’s cock between those pouty lips – 

Harry blinked, and stopped staring. There was something odd about the man, quite aside from his apparent desire to hide his pretty self in a dark corner; Harry’s Auror instincts for danger, not his Dom instincts for someone pretty and pliant, had set him looking that way. He wasn’t doing anything threatening, though; just staring blankly into his glass of whiskey.

Harry looked back over the bar, aware the man would surely notice his staring if he didn’t. He checked the mirror behind the bar for –

_Ah._

A vampire, then. He didn’t seem particularly dangerous, and certainly not actively on the hunt. Harry had supported Hermione at the Ministry since the beginning: she believed wizards shouldn’t be hostile unless the vampires were first. So he wasn’t going to arrest the vampire, or hurt him. But his Auror’s duty surely dictated that he check the vamp. Aside from anything else, it was entirely possible that the vampire, like Harry himself, was merely stopping off here before heading to a club for the night’s hunting.

He asked Les quietly for two glasses and the whiskey bottle, then headed over to the corner. Time for some covert information-gathering. He’d flirt with the vampire and see if he tried to take a bite out of Harry.

Harry smirked at his own self-justification. This particular instance of doing his duty would be no hardship at all.

The vampire looked up, and Harry was taken aback by the intense blue of his eyes. He blinked for a moment, as if staring into a bright light; then he sat down without being asked and handed the vamp the other whiskey.

The vampire gave him a frank look. “Not really my type, sonny-boy.” Harry saw with some amusement that this didn’t stop him from taking the whiskey and knocking back half of it.

“I’m Harry,” he said, voice quiet and low. “And actually, I was thinking you’d be the boy.”

“What?” The vampire looked startled, eyes going wide in his pale face.

“I suppose you could be the ‘sonny-boy’,” Harry continued, “but personally I’ve never been a fan of daddy kink.”

The vampire was still staring. He obviously hadn’t expected Harry to keep trying, let alone with such a blatant come-on. “What?” he said again, sounding incredulous.

Harry grinned at him, showing his teeth. “I thought vampires had superior hearing?”

The vampire nearly choked at that. Harry liked his look of shock, and deliberately kept him off his guard. “You’ll have to do better, you know. I like my partners to hear what I say and obey me instantly.”

He glared, blue eyes flaring the yellow of a feral cat’s. He stood up, saying, “shove off, wanker. I’m not in the mood. I just wanted a quiet drink and some soggy nostalgia, not some pervert trying to make me his bitch.”

He started to leave the booth. Harry wasn’t letting that happen: he grabbed the blond’s wrist, using the hold he usually used on prisoners right before he slammed them onto a table and cuffed them. The vampire glared down at Harry’s grip on his pale wrist. His gelled white hair and leather coat lent him a hard edge; his blazing blue eyes were full of his supernatural strength and fury. He was magnificent.

He was also frightening: but Harry wasn’t an ex-Gryffindor for nothing. “My name’s Harry,” he said calmly. “I came here for a quiet drink too; we can always just talk. What’s your name?”

The vampire glared at him for another long second, his lips going tight as he thrust out his chin defiantly. Harry felt him tense a little more under his hand, as if he was going to rip his wrist from Harry’s hand and quite probably smack Harry one – then he suddenly seemed to go limp, the light in his eyes fading slightly as his shoulders slumped. The vampire sat down, and reached for the whiskey again.

“So what is your name?”

“Spike.”

Harry grinned. “Let me guess, you’re one of those vampires who dropped your human name when you were turned. Who were you originally?”

Spike looked at him with blank, angry eyes; looking into them was like seeing fire behind reflective glass. Harry held up his hands. “OK. You’re Spike. It’s more interesting than my name, anyway.”

“You don’t recognise it?” Spike said, raising an eyebrow. “I guess the Watcher’s Academy ain’t what it used to be.”

“I’m not a Watcher,” Harry said, making a face. He’d managed thus far to avoid that particular lot of old duffers, because they didn’t like working with the Aurors. (Harry often thought sourly that this was because the Aurors actually did something.) “I’m a wizard.”

“Huh.” Spike’s lip curled a little. “I don’t like magic.”

“Why not? Because we have power you don’t?”

“No!” Spike glared, then subsided, muttering to himself about “bleedin’ arrogant bastards...”

“Why not, then?”

“Magic has consequences.” Spike’s jaw tightened and he reached for the bottle of whiskey. “I’ve seen too much of people forgettin’ that lately.”

Harry drank silently, leaving a space for him to speak. Spike sloshed yet more whiskey into his glass, then sighed. His eyes were still true-blue, but they were shadowed, now: veils hiding varied secrets within them. “There’s this girl.” He gave a small, rough laugh. “Always is, isn’t there? This one’s been usin’ magic, and forgetting the consequences. And there’s another girl, who’s payin’ em. And makin’ me pay an’ all...” He stared into his glass for a moment, then tipped his head back, exposing the long, pale link of his neck, and poured the amber liquid down his throat. He slammed it back onto the table. “Told her I was her willin’ slave. Turns out you don’t wanna say that, even to a hero-type.”

Harry frowned. “She hurt you?”

“Oh yeah.” Spike’s rough-edged voice was full of complicated, conflicting emotion: like colours swirled in a paintbox, until violet and cyan and blazing scarlet were left the ugly, damaged brown of an abused mongrel. “She hurt me. An’ she fucked me, and made it feel so good in so many bad ways.” He shook his head. “Shouldn’t fall in love with someone who needs to hurt you, but I keep doin’ it.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to go on to a club for his fuck of the night. “Maybe not. But some of the ones who hurt you will take care of you too.”

Spike gave a half-grin and muttered a word: Harry thought it was ‘angel-puss’ but he wasn’t sure. Better change the subject, anyhow. “Why’d you pick this place for your ‘soggy nostalgia’?”

“I’ve been here before.” Spike’s expansive gesture seemed to take in the whole world, and definitely showed he’d been drinking for a while. “This pub was one of the first places I went with Dru – that’s my sire. We tore this place apart, grabbed the customers and sank our fangs in, feasted on their gore – ” He stopped suddenly, and gave Harry an oddly guilty look for a vampire. “Uh, sorry.”

Harry shrugged. “I know what vampires do, Spike. I’m not a child, I’m an Auror.” As he said it he realised he’d given up even cursory attempts to covertly check the vampire for evil intentions: but his instincts were saying Spike didn’t have any. At Spike’s expression he held up his hands, showing the lack of a wand. “Hey, I’m not going to arrest you. Times have changed – kill-on-sight went out fifty years ago, and I support the current policy.”

“What’s that then?” Spike said with a deeply distrustful expression.

“Basically, ‘we don’t bug you if you don’t bite them’. Buy your blood instead of hunting and you’ll be left alone by the Ministry.”

Spike’s face twisted. “No fear of that, I promise you, Harry.” 

Harry didn’t understand the derision and pain in his voice; like a good Englishman, he hastily steered the conversation away from difficult emotions. “You said you came here with your sire, when was that?” Harry poured some more whiskey into his glass.

“Just after she sired me – 1881, it would have been.”

Harry choked. 

Spike laughed, deep and genuine, while he watched Harry splutter. “You weren’t expecting someone this old, then?”

Harry slid closer, pressing his thigh against Spike’s, and managed to speak. “I don’t mind older men.”

That was the turning point. They kept talking: shop-talk about defeating evil, and male talk about football (Spike was ecstatic to be back with someone who didn’t call it ‘soccer’). More and more, though, came the flirt talk: deep voices going deeper, heads dipping close together, thighs pressing together as they laughed. Harry explained Quidditch, and Spike made the most of the opportunities to ask him about the balls and riding of broomsticks – always with an eyebrow raised and a press of his tongue to the back of his teeth. 

Harry mentioned being a hero, and how tired he was of people expecting purity, how tied down it made him feel. Spike, after a hard swallow and another drink, told him about being chipped: that there were nasty electronics in his brain, shocking him if he tried to bite or hurt or even hit. Harry swallowed, remembering pain caused by sadistic bureaucrats, and surprised Spike with his sympathy.

Spike talked about being a vampire: when he mentioned his grandsire, who was a “big bugger” and a “bloody sadist”, Harry raised his eyebrows and was delighted to see the vampire flush. “Shuttup,” he muttered. “Nothin’ wrong with likin’ a bit of kink now and then, and Angelus, he was the best. Could make you cry and scream and love every minute of it.”

Harry leaned in. “Angelus was the best, eh? Think I’ll have to change your mind about that.”

They talked about old girlfriends. Harry mentioned Ginny, saying they were still friends, and that they couldn’t ever have worked as a couple. Ginny had wanted him so desperately and he’d fallen into the relationship when he’d wanted to forget using dark magic: it wasn’t fair to her, and it wasn’t going to lead to happiness for himself. Spike gave a rough-edged laugh. “I understand that. You’ve no idea.”

Spike told him about falling in love with the current Slayer, and laughed at Harry’s surprise. The laugh sounded painful: mirth ripped through with barbed wire. “Yeah. She’ll never want me... not for more than a fuck. We were fucking before I left, and every bloody time she’d run out on me. The second we were finished, she’d...” He made a tired gesture, and Harry noticed his bitten nails. “Off into the night. I came back coz she blew up me crypt. I’m homeless.” He stared into his glass. “Never used to bother me. Ran around with Dru, never wanted to be tied to one place... but I had Dru, then. Had family...”

Harry felt his heart twinge. He reached out and stroked his fingertips gently along Spike’s jawline, turning the narrow face to his. Spike’s eyes were wide; then they went narrow and intent as Harry leaned in and kissed him.

The kiss was slow, both men careful at first; then Harry pressed his tongue to the seam of Spike’s lips and the vampire’s mouth opened sweetly for him. Spike tasted of whiskey. Harry carded his fingers into the hair just above Spike’s nape, tipping his head back to kiss him more deeply. Their tongues slid together; Harry bit at Spike’s lip, and laughed softly into his cool mouth when he groaned.

They drank and kissed some more, slow, drugging kisses; by midnight, Harry’s whole world seemed to be tinted with the slow-burn of amber. Spike was talking again, saying something Harry heard only vaguely: maybe the vampire was much drunker than he was, because “I bet you could bring the house down. We could do it together... you might not be a Slayer but you do have your _wand_...” didn’t make any sense. And now he’d dissolved into giggles, leaning into Harry, his bright head coming down into the hollow between Harry’s shoulder and his neck. Harry felt a shiver as Spike pressed closer.

When Spike said he’d heard the cathedral bells at one o’ clock, Harry spoke with a sense of easy, pleased inevitability: like a dislocated shoulder snapping back into place.

“It’s past my bedtime. I should really go home... Want to come and put me to bed?”

 

They stumbled from the pub together, and the cool air hit them in a shock. Spike shivered a little. “Not used to this, after bein’ in Sunnydale...”

Harry pulled him in, slipping one arm round his waist, a hand at his lower back to keep him close. “I’ll keep you warm,” he breathed against Spike’s cool mouth, and Apparated.

Spike stumbled as they landed and Harry kept him upright, their bodies pressed together from chests to knees. He raised his pale face and they stared at each other, breaths passing over each other’s lips, inches from each other. Then Harry leaned down to kiss him again. 

Spike’s kisses were intoxicating: so passionate, full of strength and emotion, yet he was sweetly submissive and controllable if Harry kissed him right, letting Harry move as he liked and take what he wanted. They kept kissing, Spike’s strong arms around Harry. Harry flicked his tongue over Spike’s palate and felt his groan; he slid his arms down, hands firmly over Spike’s lower back, and pulled the smaller man tight against him. The position forced Spike to lean up, stretching anxiously to reach Harry’s lips; Harry ran a finger down the long, stretched neck, and heard him moan.

Spike pulled back and started tugging at Harry’s t-shirt, searching for skin. Harry pulled it off, then pushed Spike’s duster off his shoulders, leaving him standing in his tight t-shirt and jeans. Spike made a small sound and looked up at him with vulnerable eyes.

That look sent fire through Harry’s veins. The next few minutes passed in a heated blur of cool skin and fast breathing, pale limbs and lush mouth: taking Spike to the bedroom, pushing him inside, clothes being shed, stripping Spike’s jeans off him and finding he went commando, rubbing and touching again, Spike’s tongue trailing over his collarbone.

Harry pulled back, gasping, and his head cleared for a moment. Spike was pale, muscled, gorgeous in the moonlight; Harry pressed him to the bed and they went down together, mouths crashing together once more.

Harry lay over Spike, one hand at the back of his head, holding him close, while the other moved immediately to his arse, groping rudely at it, clenching and squeezing the ripe flesh. Spike was squirming madly in his grip, moaning into his mouth; his wriggles were starting to make Harry’s eyes cross. He bit down on Spike’s neck to stifle a groan, and the resulting hip-jerk nearly tipped him off.

Suddenly Spike gave a deep groan and moved, flipping Harry onto his back and rolling on top. He started grinding down in earnest, naked cock rubbing against Harry’s and sending flashes of sensation through him. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he muttered in Harry’s ear. “Can’t wait to fuck you, nothing like doin’ a human, all warm and...”

Harry frowned. He might not have picked up one of his usual twinks in their glitter and white leather, but he was in the mood to be both on top and in control.

He rolled them back over, dumping Spike on his back beneath him. Spike frowned, surprised; Harry leaned down and distracted him with all possible efficiency by capturing the soft lobe of his ear in blunt teeth and biting down. Spike gave a small cry, like a mewling kitten, and clutched at his arms. Harry kept going – licking over Spike’s ear, then moving down his jawline, leaving small, stinging bites strung along the soft skin of his jawline. He kept moving, hot mouth moving over the vampire’s pale skin down his neck. When he reached the base of his neck, Harry bit down.

Predictably, Spike moaned helplessly at this manoevre and went limp, lying still but for the nails digging into Harry’s biceps and the slow, slick movement of his hips. Harry smirked and kept his mouth there as he reached blindly for his bedside table; he glanced over quickly and opened the top drawer. From there he grabbed the lube. And the handcuffs.

He nibbled at the white scar on Spike’s neck, the mark of the vampire’s kiss. For a brief moment the vampire turned to putty – and a moment was all Harry needed. In a swift, violent movement he’d repeated a thousand times over at work, Harry rolled Spike onto his front, grabbed his wrists and cuffed them, the chain between the cuffs tying him securely to the bed of the bed.

He pulled back to enjoy the sight. Spike had gone utterly tense, his muscles flexing; he was naked and cuffed and vulnerable to anything Harry wanted to do, his pale rump exposed in the moonlight. Harry grinned, and began trailing a teasing finger down Spike’s spine.

But just then, Spike’s moment of tension broke: he burst into movement, straining and tugging at the cuffs, making the length of wood at the head of Harry’s bed creak. Harry had never seen anything like the panicked jerks: guilt welled up, and he began stroking quickly over Spike’s shoulders and flanks, trying to calm him.

“Hey, hey,” he said, bewildered. “Don’t panic. I’m not going to do anything bad to you. In fact,” he continued lightly, trying to ease the situation, “my pride will be hurt if you don’t enjoy what comes next.”

Spike turned his head to look round at him; the shadows and moonlight made it difficult to see clearly, but Harry caught the fright in his blue eyes. He swallowed, wishing he’d asked first, and kept stroking. “Relax, Spike. I’ll let you go if you want, but I’m really not going to hurt you. Would you trust me?”

Something flared in his eyes. “I... yeah. Yeah. I’ll trust you.” Harry could hear that his fear wasn’t really gone, but he sounded resolute and Harry knew he could make the fear go away. So he nodded, and stroked a warm hand down Spike’s back. It seemed almost menacing, darker against the gleaming white skin.

He whispered, “just relax.”

Then he moved behind Spike, curled hands over his hipbones, urging him up onto his knees and elbows. Spike could hold himself up easily that way, but his arse was raised like an offering, high and round and gorgeous. Harry spread Spike’s cheeks, and at the sight of that tight rose, his mouth watered.

That was one way to get this off to a reassuring start; and it helped that Harry absolutely loved doing this. He’d come out planning to indulge himself: and when he reached out and licked lightly over Spike’s hole, tasting musk, and heard Spike’s high-pitched moan, he thought _mission accomplished_.

He lapped at Spike’s hole, long, slow strokes; he pressed against it, never quite penetrating. Spike began to press back, begging without words for _more, more_ ; but it wasn’t until he said it that Harry relented.

“Come on, Harry, do it! Fuck me, come o – oh...” Harry thrust his tongue inside Spike: no soft licking now, no making him ready for the fuck to come. No, now he just tongue-fucked Spike, feeling the vampire press back against the feeling, buttocks pressing up against his spreading hands, accepting his touch and longing for more.

Finally he pulled back, leaving Spike’s hole soaked and winking open. He prepared him perfunctorily, knowing the rimming had helped and wanting him tight. Then he _thrust_ , violent yet blissful, and _fuck_ this was good. Spike was cool inside, and he’d never felt anything like it. He was tight, too, and Harry split him around his cock, kneeling over him and dominating him completely.

Spike moved back against him, his rhythm perfect as he fucked back against Harry’s cock; the movements were swift, but almost dream-like: a long-forgotten habit. Harry moved with him, fluidly. It was like they’d been fucking forever, easy and hard and hot and brilliant. Harry relaxed against Spike, letting his strong back take the weight so he could run one hand over Spike’s chest. He plucked at his nipples, pulling and tugging harshly, loving the way Spike gasped and moved faster at the pain. He scratched his nails down Spike’s stomach, no doubt leaving red marks scoured over the pale skin. He ran his fingers over the tops of Spike’s arms and felt the muscles shaking with strain.

Next he shifted a little, so he could reach; he moved his wet mouth over Spike’s neck and clamped down, biting harshly and possessively like an animal in heat: Spike _yowled_ and started fucking back desperately, like he couldn’t possibly stop, and the feeling was amazing, Spike so desperate for him. Harry fucked him harder now, riding him with no consideration or gentleness, just fucking him for all he was worth; then he moved his hand down to Spike’s dripping, drooling erection and wanked him, as harshly as he dared. They moved together, a swirling maelstrom of thrusts and moans, of instinct and of roaring possessiveness; Spike came, breaking apart with a helpless cry, spurting over Harry’s fingers and unable to stop. At the feeling, Spike clenching around him and coming for him and forgetting there had ever been anyone else but him, Harry bit and thrust and _came_.

~*~

A few days later Spike could be found in an alley, holding a threadbare armchair and returning to the flat he was squatting in. It hadn’t been all that hard setting himself up: London rent might be through the roof but the city had as many dangerous buildings that the council was unwilling to take responsibility for as anywhere else.

It was odd, though. Being back here felt strange, like wearing old clothes: maybe they still fit you, but they didn’t suit you any more. He hadn’t lived here since he was alive, aside from those few months immediately after he was turned. The whole place was different, it smelled different and looked different, gas-lamps lighting his way through the fog replaced with streetlights and endless shiny displays. That just made the moments of familiarity even more jarring.

It felt like being William, being back here. That had been part of why he’d come back: homeless and Slayer-less, there’d been nothing for him in Sunnydale, and Buffy calling him ‘William’ had brought an instant longing for home surging up his throat, making it tight. But – as per bloody usual – he hadn’t thought his plan through. So now he was here in Merrie Olde England and everything made him feel weak – reminded him of ‘sweet William’. Reminded him that he’d never really changed all that much. _“What we were informs all we become”_ , as Darla used to say.

He was sick of it. Always kneeling at the feet of those he loved, offering his heart, serving them and trying to look after them, doing everything he could: and all it got him was a heart not just broken, but utterly crushed.

He slammed into his grotty ground-floor flat, kicking the door back: it already had a large scuff-mark at the bottom from his Doc Martens. He swaggered through the little hall into his sitting room – and stopped.

“How the hell did you get in?”

Harry looked at him flatly. “I’m an Auror. Finding a vampire really isn’t that difficult for me.”

Spike scowled and shoved past him, dumping the armchair onto the thin carpet. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t aware we had much more than a one-night-stand, so – ”

“I won’t stop you being here, Spike.”

Spike stared. “Yeah, well, good for you, you tosser,” he spluttered. “Since when could you – ”

“The Aurors will be keeping an eye on you,” Harry said sternly, speaking like he hadn’t even heard him. “It’s not my idea, it’s just what happens. We make sure the resident vampires don’t feed off humans. I won’t stop you staying here – ” his lips curled into a wicked grin – “I think it’s going to be very enjoyable for me to have you around. But don’t get cocky. It’s not that long since we were ordered to kill your kind on sight, and people don’t care about vampires’ rights.”

_Fucking hell. They’re all the sodding same. Stupid heroes, people I loved in London... why can’t I be strong for once? Not weak and omega and letting them hurt me, letting them break my heart over and over until the chips of it break off?_

He didn’t say any of this. He just growled, and felt his gameface come.

He strode over to Harry with fast movements, too fast for any normal human to react. He pushed him against the wall, face-first; for once he’d be strong and on top, not a weak mewling childe. Spike pulled at Harry’s shirt, exposing his neck and shoulder, bit at him, only just managing to push down the demon face in time. He was aware that the chip would zap him if he kept this up, but he couldn’t make himself stop: he was careening along on a crazy edge, like before he was chipped when the whole world was red, and he’d missed it.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling tolerant,” Harry said roughly, into the wall. “You’re not going to be able to keep doing this – your chip will stop you.”

“Not if you like the pain,” Spike leered. “Come on then. When are you going to take it?”

He felt the muscles of Harry’s shoulders flex beneath his cheek. “Oh, I’ll be taking it right now.”

He spun in one swift movement and shoved Spike face-first against the wall, rougher than Spike has been. He pressed close; Spike felt enclosed, entirely surrounded by the heat of the taller man. Harry started grinding against his arse, running his hands all over Spike’s chest as if he’d a right to, tweaking a nipple teasingly as his erection rubbed up Spike’s cleft. He couldn’t hold back a moan, and Harry chuckled softly in his ear.

“Get off! Stop it, you bastard, stop it now!”

Harry laughed again and Spike growled with boiling resentment. Then Harry pulled away, leaving him free. “All right. If you don’t like that, we’ll do something else. What should it be?” He tapped a finger against his lips in a parody of consideration, and Spike felt a rush of heat at how in control he looked, standing tall and unafraid in the dirty room. Spike thought he wouldn’t even be afraid if Spike _could_ bite him, and that made all the difference. He gasped.

Harry looked at him. Spike felt exposed, penetrated; he was suddenly sure that Harry could see every part of him, could see how Harry’s strength and lack of fear, his kindness and domination, made Spike forget every clever move to get his way, everything he’d ever learnt but how to fall to his knees.

And maybe Harry could read minds, because the next thing he said was, “I know! Suck my cock, Spike.”

The burning resentment came back. “Fuck that.”

“Spike,” he said, voice warning. “Do it.”

Spike sneered at him. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Spike gave a disbelieving laugh at the arrogance. “Shove off, wanker.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, and his voice deepened, until the few inches he had on Spike seemed like feet, like he was some shadowy statue of a god. “Spike, are you disobeying me?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Fuck off.”

Harry’s voice, lips and fists all tightened. “I see. Well, in that case, Spike, you _can_ fuck me. But only,” he held up a reproving finger when Spike tried to talk, “after I’ve fucked you.”

Spike laughed a little. Harry thought that’d stop him? “No problem. Come on!” 

He led the way to his bedroom, stripping as he went. Harry followed him; as they reached the bed, he tried to kiss Spike. Spike allowed it for a few seconds – nothing like a hot tongue – then pulled away. “Come on! Hard, fast fuck, all right? Then we can get to the good bit.”

“Being fucked by me isn’t the good bit?” There was more a pout in Harry’s voice than was entirely becoming for a hero, even as he slicked his cock with Spike’s lube.

Spike rolled his eyes, sitting against the headboard, legs akimbo. “You know damn well that being fucked by you is amazing. But I want a go.”

Harry tossed him the lube. “I like bottoming every now and then.” He watched Spike prepare himself, eyes flaring at the sight of his fingers working in his own hole. His eyebrows creased when Spike tossed the lube away. “And I remember the last time well enough to know _that_ was not enough prep.”

“Don’t be such a nancy,” Spike retorted, sliding down the bed and pulling his legs up to exposed himself. “I’m a bloody vampire, remember? I get off on pain.”

Harry’s eyes lit up at the reminder and he practically leapt on top of Spike. Next second he was pushing inside, and Spike cried out through clenched teeth. Fuck, it was like he was being split in two, like his insides were being arranged to accommodate that fucking enormous thing... Maybe he’d miscalculated on the whole ‘I get off on pain’ thing.

But Harry’s cock felt blazingly hot in his centre, and the burn was immense, and Harry kept fucking him and lying beneath him was blissful, and _fuck_ he’d hit the spot, and God even now his cock felt huge... Spike started to wank himself, only to feel his hand slapped away sharply. He opened his mouth to yell and found the sound swallowed by one of Harry’s drugging kisses.

Finally Harry pulled away. He reached for his cock again, only to have his hands once again slapped away. “What the fuck, wizard?”

“You disobeyed me, Spike. You defied me. That means you get punished.” Harry’s grin was velvet over a knife. “Tonight, you’re not going to come.”

“WHAT?”

“You heard me,” Harry said, and punctuated it with a merciless thrust. “You’re mine now, Spike; your body is mine, and so is your pleasure. You only get it _at_ my pleasure, and I’m not letting you come after the way you spoke to me.”

Spike stared at him in utter disbelief. “You – you can’t – ”

“You might come tomorrow – and if you do, I’ll make the waiting worth your while. But you’re not to get yourself off, Spike. If you do, I’ll have you in a cock cage like _that_.”

Spike shut his eyes, and gave in. “Fine.” He turned his face away, and endured, clenching his teeth every time Harry brushed over his prostate, trying not to come or even cry out. This reaction didn’t seem to faze Harry: on the contrary, he just seemed to fuck harder and faster on the knowledge that Spike was trying not to react, was praying for it to be over. He held Spike down and pleasured him mercilessly, deliberately bumping against his prostate as often as he could and kissing down his chest. Spike finally broke, giving a cry of strangled pleasure and desperate denial: at the sound, Harry came.

They lay together afterwards. Spike kept up a dignified silence, but quickly got bored and decided it probably looked like a sulk. Besides, talking might distract him from his aching, throbbing cock, that was still upright, drooling against his stomach, so hard it felt like a fifth limb.

“It’s not that I mind obeying you,” he said. “It’s just... I’m helpless all the time. Can’t bite, can’t feed... and people always hurt me when I’m helpless. I can’t be helpless here, too. I never have the power, and I always get royally fucked.”

Harry gave a small snort of laughter at the phrasing. “Well, I don’t see that changing.”

Spike rolled his eyes petulantly and Harry relented.

“I understand that,” he said. “I do. But I’m bound and determined to change your mind. I like my partners to be helpless with me, and I never hurt them.” He gave a small grin. “Well, not if they _really_ don’t want me to.”

“But you see why I didn’t suck you?”

Harry paused for a moment, looking at him. “Yes.”

Spike stared up at him for a moment, hardly daring to hope, and then –

“But you’re still not getting to come.”

Harry chuckled at Spike’s moan of disappointment. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” he said comfortably. “If you’re good, anyway.” 

Then he rolled over, slinging an arm round Spike’s waist as he went, so they both ended up face-down on the pillow. Spike didn’t mind as much as he could have: Harry cuddling up behind him was deliciously warm, and he felt claimed with Harry lying half on top of him, a knee insinuated between his thighs.

But _oh God_ his cock hurt. It felt swollen and sore, the skin stretched tight over it like the skin of a drum, and if he could _just... touch it..._ it would be such sweet relief. Who the fuck cared if Harry found out?

Spike shut his eyes, and tried to think about the Master naked.

 

Harry woke the next morning to find himself lying on his side, with Spike snuggling into his front. The vampire’s cool flesh was pressed against him, body curled to match Harry’s contours. Harry smiled into Spike’s fuzzy hair and pressed a kiss against his nape. So typical of the little vampire to want contact, even in sleep. He wondered again how the current Slayer could possibly have run off instead of fully taking advantage. Harry ran a proprietary hand down Spike’s chest at the thought: the Slayer couldn’t have him now. He belonged to Harry.

At that thought, Harry’s morning erection twitched a little against Spike’s ripe arse. He sat up on one elbow and reached across the vampire to the bedside table for the lube. Spike was still out for the count, his face slack and peaceful against the pillow; it made Harry smile to think he could sleep so deeply with Harry there, trusting him completely. 

Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have a little fun.

Harry lubed a couple of fingers awkwardly, keeping his left hand dry and propping his chin on it, so he could watch Spike’s face. Then he slid his hand down Spike’s body, and into his cleft, worming his fingers between Spike’s cheeks until he found the crinkled skin of his hole. He tapped at it softly, watching Spike’s dark eyebrows contract briefly in a frown before the vampire relaxed again.

Harry chuckled softly, and pressed a finger inside Spike. He pushed it slowly in and out, feeling Spike’s muscles relax easily. He worked the other slick finger into the vampire’s hole and began playing in earnest. He wriggled the fingers inside Spike, stroking them softly down his inner walls and stretching him slowly. He touched Spike’s prostate, running his fingers over it and watching as Spike began to squirm in his sleep, making a soft moan. Harry stopped, waiting, until he relaxed into unconsciousness once more, then continued touching.

He kept playing for about ten minutes: running his fingers round Spike’s entrance and tapping them at his hole until Spike’s eyelashes began to flutter, then stopping to let him fall back asleep. There was an undeniable power in doing this to Spike without the vampire even being aware of what was going on. Harry’s lips curved in a smirk as he played, pressing his fingers inside Spike to the root and pumping them inside to watch Spike’s barely-conscious reactions. The dozy whimpers were delicious, as were the tiny gasps. He’d have to remember to tire Spike out again, if it let him do this: treat the vampire as a toy, one that could be played with and allowed to respond only as Harry wished.

Finally, sleepy blue eyes opened. Harry watched Spike blink fuzzily, obviously not entirely awake. A thought crossed his mind; with a wicked smirk, he found Spike’s prostate again and _pressed_.

Spike’s eyes went wide as his whole body jerked and a strangled cry was torn from his mouth. Harry laughed, deliberately moving with him to keep his fingers firmly against the gland. He watched Spike’s face go slack and his eyes shut in bliss even as the vampire writhed, garbled words spilling from his mouth.

Finally Harry pulled back a little, leaving Spike a trembling, panting mess on the bed. He watched while the vampire slowly calmed down. Then Spike twisted his head to look up at him, with amused blue eyes.

“Havin’ some fun with me while I was out, Master?”

Harry grinned and flexed his fingers inside Spike’s hole, grinning as the vampire’s dark eyelashes fluttered and he moaned. “Lots of fun. I couldn’t help myself.”

He pulled his fingers from Spike with a _pop_. Harry grabbed Spike’s shoulder and pulled him flat on his back, before rolling on top. He smiled in satisfaction when Spike instantly spread his legs, uncomplaining. He rolled his hips, feeling Spike follow the movement; their erections brushed together and Harry swallowed a moan.

He lifted himself up, hands pressing firmly against the sheets on either side of Spike’s torso, caging him with his arms. Then he lifted his left hand to Spike’s face, drawing it down the side of his bone-white face, before running one finger down across his plush lower lip. Spike stared up at him with faintly confused blue eyes; Harry thought he saw the shadow of an old hurt. “What’re you doing, then?”

“Touching you,” Harry said, smiling. “You’re so nice to touch and play with... my pretty Spike. So mine.”

Spike’s lips pursed as he looked up at Harry, eyes confused. Harry wasn’t sure if the confusion was due to what he’d said – the mix of affection and unrelenting possessiveness – or simply because he was trying to work out if he could retort angrily and get away with it. Harry decided to head off any silly defiance: he didn’t want to punish Spike. He wanted to fuck him.

He sat back, kneeling between Spike’s legs, and spread him. The sight of his glistening hole, reddened and open, had him groaning. Then he felt a cool hand on his cock.

He looked at Spike. The blond was blinking shyly and smiling. “Let me slick you up?”

Harry grinned, and handed him the lube.

Spike’s long fingers worked smoothly over his cock. Harry watched his face: the mouth slightly open, the eyes intent. Then Spike tweaked the head of his cock wickedly, and Harry groaned. He moved over Spike with a growl and pushed into the exquisite tightness in one long, smooth thrust.

They moaned simultaneously at the feeling: tight, cool flesh sliding slickly around him, or burning hotness pushing into him, _taking_ him. It took all Harry’s self-control not to just thrust blindly until he came inside Spike: the thought of marking him a scent the vampire would smell all day sent base arousal flashing through him. But he groped for control and found it; fucking Spike slowly, he watched his face. God, the way his eyes were so tightly shut, long black lashes against pale skin; the way his pouty lips went slack at Harry’s more powerful thrusts; the way he panted unnecessarily as Harry fucked him...

Then Spike’s eyes opened and their gazes met. The connection was sizzling with lust, but staring into Spike’s blue eyes sent other emotions entirely through Harry’s heart. He raised a hand and stroked it over Spike’s lower lip; Spike was blinking at him, confused.

Suddenly confused himself, Harry diffused the moment the best way he knew how: he fucked harder. His hands came down on Spike’s wrists to hold him down, and he shut his eyes and just _moved_ , loving the feel of Spike’s channel and the way the slick muscle was forced to accommodate his cock, his taking.

“God...” Spike groaned. “God, I’ve got to come.” His cock was already so red it looked painful after the denial of last night. Harry considered letting him wank off, watching him work himself desperately... but that wouldn’t be nearly so fun.

“What makes you think I’m going to let you come, Spike?” he asked silkily, thrusting leisurely into the vampire. “Do you think you’ve earned it?”

He hit Spike’s prostate right then, and the resulting moan was pleading, broken as Spike’s breath caught. “Oh God, Harry come on, fuck...”

“That’s what we’re doing.” He lowered his head, hair brushing lightly over Spike’s skin, and caught a pink nipple in his teeth. He tugged at it and Spike moaned again, his back arching, pressing his chest to Harry’s mouth. Harry kept playing, biting and sucking, until Spike’s nipple was shiny with saliva and reddened with abuse. And all the time he kept up his leisurely fucking, relentlessly driving Spike towards the brink, and didn’t even brush his cock.

“Come on,” Spike said, voice unsteady. “This is very nice an’ all, but I want to get off.”

“And I asked you,” Harry said, dark voice curling round the words like a snake round silk, “if you think you’ve earned it.”

“I – I got you off yesterday, didn’t I?"

The pleading expression on Spike’s face, the helpless, entreating look of his eyes, the desperate pleading for relief, knowing it wouldn’t happen unless Harry let it, knowing he belonged to Harry – All of it fused in Harry’s head and then exploded like a firework, lights sparking in his vision as he came.

He opened his eyes to find Spike staring up at him with a despairing expression. “Harry, Harry it _hurts_!” He obviously thought he wasn’t going to be allowed to come, now Harry had found his pleasure. But his sweet begging was just too lovely not to reward.

Harry grinned down wickedly into Spike’s face, raised to him like a flower towards the sun. Then he dropped and drew Spike’s petal-soft, granite-hard cock into his mouth in one movement.

Spike howled, his hips jerking uncontrollably against Harry’s benevolent mouth. Harry sucked hard, pressing his tongue to the slit and flicking it over the head, wanting Spike to have an orgasm worth the wait. If the noises he was making were any indication, the blowjob would do it: it was in fact the best blowjob in the history of time. But it could still be better: Harry relaxed his throat, and swallowed Spike’s cock.

It only took three thrusts before Spike was coming, come shooting from his cock while he howled, his entire body rigid. He came, and came, leaving Harry’s throat raw. Finally he was finished; when Harry pulled back, he saw to his amusement (and not a little masculine pride) that Spike was unconscious: his body was absolutely limp, his face still.

Harry disengaged himself with a wince: he wanted to stay here, fucking Spike and stroking Spike and enjoying Spike, but he wasn’t going to be able to take care of his vampire if he lost his job.

_...What?_

When had he started thinking that way? When had calling Spike ‘mine’ gone from something that got Harry hot in bed, to something that affected his ‘real’ life? More than that, when had he decided it was his job to take care of Spike? 

But then who else was there? And certainly somebody had to take care of him: he didn’t seem to be any good at doing it himself. He was unable to defend himself, he was rash and impulsive... he was fucking _hot_ , and Harry was going to make sure no harm came to that beautiful body and endearing personality. He wasn’t finished with him yet, after all.

Harry showered and dressed quietly – no time for breakfast. He checked on Spike once more before he left for work; opening his bedroom door, a smile he was helpless to stop broke over his face. The vampire was lying exactly where he had been when Harry left him. His legs were bent up awkwardly and his arms were strewn on the pillow, but his face was peaceful. 

Harry smiled indulgently and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll come and see you later,” he whispered to the sleeping vampire. Then he ran a gentle, propietary hand down Spike’s chest, and left as quietly as he could.

~*~

Spike once again gave thanks for the static nature of the wizarding community. He’d seen little of it while in England – being born without magic, and then under the thumb of a patriarch who considered magic users to be dangerous creatures best avoided. Angelus’ declaration had, of course, made seeing the wizarding community unbelievably tempting for the young William, and he’d run off to Diagon Alley the moment he was left alone. His subsequent thrashing had left him in agony and unable to move while the other three attended parties. Still, Spike now knew exactly where Knockturn Alley was and that it was a ready source of human blood: on balance, he thought it was worth it.

He nodded at the butcher as the man handed him his brown paper bag, filled with bottles of blood. He was one of the creepier specimens Spike had encountered down this alley, with dark, stringy hair and filthy robes. His ‘buy two, get one half-price’ offer on human ears was a little disquieting, too.

“Oi! Who’re you then?”

Spike turned, and his lip turned up in an instinctive sneer. Three young men – boys, really, they looked younger than Harris and even less competent – had just swaggered into the shop. One of them, a freckled redhead, came forward with a matching sneer.

“Go on, then,” he said. “What’s in the bag?”

Spike gave him a contemptuous scowl and shoved past. Tried to, anyway – the redhead and his mate, a black man with dreadlocks, got in the way. Spike glared and tried not to notice the prickling awareness of the chip and the fact that English wizards always carried wands; he also studiously ignored the humiliating fact that he was shorter than both of them.

“None of your business, mate. What do you care what a bloke likes to buy when he’s shopping?” Spike spoke with forced casualness.

“We don’t know what you might be buying,” the third youth said coolly. “You might be a dark wizard buying human body parts for your spells. Who knows what people like you put in their cauldrons?”

“I’m not a wizard at all, mate,” Spike said. “I don’t do spells, with human body parts or not – too many consequences.” The sight of a dead-eyed Buffy fighting, then fucking him with such desperation, flashed across his mind’s eye and he swallowed. Affecting nonchalance, he turned to look at the butcher without giving the boys his back. “Wanna talk to these boys giving your valued customers a hard time?”

“No point,” the man hissed, backing further behind the counter. “Wannabe heroes like these puffed-up little Griffin-doors never listen to men like me. It ruins their sense of moral righteousness.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.” He hadn’t understood any of that, except for the fact that he was on his own.

He faced the youths again, deliberately keeping his face and eyes hard. But then he’d been doing that the whole time he’d been in Knockturn Alley, not being a complete idiot, and it hadn’t stopped these wankers bothering him. It certainly didn’t bother them now: they were pressing closer, invading Spike’s personal space. Then, to Spike’s utter outrage, the black boy poked rudely at his hair.

“You a wannabe Mal-foi or something?”

Spike didn’t understand the word, but he knew it was an insult. He snarled and lost his rag, going into gameface with a furious growl just as one of the other bastards, poking at his brown bag, succeeded in seeing the blood inside.

_“Vampire!”_

All three of them piled backwards, retreating in a chaotic, stumbling rush. Spike felt a moment of screaming triumph at their fear, feeling at the top of the food chain as he hadn’t since before the chip – then the little bleeders stopping retreating, and raised their wands. Spike recognised the expressions on their faces from a thousand fights against and alongside the Scoobies. They were scared, but they fancied themselves heroes and they weren’t going to run.

_Got to get out. It’s just a shame they’re so near the door._

Spike’s adrenaline-laced thoughts raced, while the youths panted and tried to work up the courage to attack – or maybe just tried to remember if there was a ‘staking vampires’ spell.

_Aha._

He began to advance on the wizards – very slowly, so they wouldn’t panic. His swagger and the slow curl of his lips into a predator’s grin set their hearts beating ever faster: Spike’s nose was full of the stink of fear, with top notes of bravado.

“It’s been a while since I had human blood straight from the tap,” he said slowly, feeling his demon rise still further at this truth. “And you all seem to have volunteered yourselves for the duty.” Spike caught one wizard starting to mouth a spell, and growled. The boy flinched. 

“You smell good,” he continued, getting closer. He was channelling every menacing, cliched speech he’d ever heard Angelus or horror-film villains say. “That fear – ” he let his tongue flick out from behind his fangs, like a snake tasting the air. “Delicious.”

Crap! One of the boys was aiming his wand and he wasn’t going to stop. Spike dropped the blood and _dove_ , slamming out through the shop door before the idiot boys knew what’d hit ’em. In an instant he was up again and running, racing for his life down the cobbled street and howling with frustrated bloodlust, even as he laughed inwardly at the wizards’ defeat and outran them with blissful ease.

~*~

Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed. The paperwork for his current case was giving him a headache: investigating financial fraud involved a lot of forms, not to speak of arguing with the Gringotts goblins over whether he should be allowed to see financial records. Somehow they just didn’t seem to realise that –

A sudden commotion outside broke Harry from his thoughts. Thankful for the distraction, he left his cubicle to find Auror Team B, of five people, rushing around yelling to each other. He buttonholed one of the younger Aurors, Smithers, who was staring at them too. “What’s going on?”

Smithers jumped. She was still at that Oh-wow-it’s-Harry-Potter stage, but no doubt she’d get past the awe once she’d seen his reaction to the coffee running out. “There’s been a vampire sighting, Mr Potter,” she said breathlessly. “In Knockturn Alley. He was buying blood, and he threatened some kids who asked him what he was doing.”

Harry’s expression made Smithers squeak and back away.

“Tell me, Smithers,” Harry said grimly. “What did this vampire look like?”

~*~

Spike sprawled in front of the telly when he got back and opened a beer: nothing else to drink now the bastards had lost him his blood. He glared at the screen, kicking sulkily at the carpet. _Neighbours_ just didn’t have the right vibe for a vampire’s sulk. For God’s sake, it didn’t even have _Eastenders_ ’ bodycount.

Suddenly there came a volley of sharp raps at the door. Usually this would be a welcome distraction (if only for the novelty value – Spike hadn’t had someone actually knock since he’d set up in Sunnydale). But Spike could guess who it was, and his reaction to Spike’s little adventure would no doubt be ‘less than pleased’.

The knocks kept coming and Spike could actually _feel_ Harry getting angrier: the smell of it was coming from the hall. Harry wasn’t giving up. Spike studiously ignored the part of himself that liked that, that was flattered at how bothered Harry was and that felt a naughty little thrill at the thought of Harry’s anger. 

He’d better open the door. Because – because he wasn’t going away, and the noise was getting annoying.

He stamped over to the door and threw it open. Predictably, there stood Harry, tall and dark and angry, his green eyes glowing with emotion. His lips were tight. The moment the door was fully open, Harry stepped past him Spike into the little hall.

Spike swallowed, turning to face him; then he lifted his chin. “What?” he snarled. “Come to tell me I’ve been a naughty boy?” 

“Yes,” Harry said calmly. His green eyes were cool and implacable as marble.

Spike snarled something – even he didn’t know what – and tried to shoulder past, back to his telly and Ramsay Street. Before he’d gone a foot Harry had grabbed his biceps and swung him round, slamming him up against the wall. It should have been like Buffy doing it – God knows he was used to hero-types smacking him around – but it wasn’t, and not just because Harry was tall and broad and dark, somehow becoming the whole world while Buffy was the bright light illuminating it. Because whatever Harry’s wants or needs, he wasn’t desperate or clinging on, brittle instead of strong. He didn’t forget that Spike had feelings, whatever his lack of a soul. He didn’t forget that Spike needed things, too.

Spike relaxed into the hold automatically, though he could feel his eyes still flaring with the old gold of the demon’s gaze.

“Now look, Spike. I told you to keep your head down, and I told you why you needed to do it. The Aurors are aware of you now, they’re looking for you. I’ll make sure they don’t arrest you, but for fuck’s sake, Spike – getting into a fight with three wizards isn’t keeping your head down.”

Spike pouted. Unfortunately, it didn’t work like it usually had with Angelus to get him out of trouble. “Wasn’t my fault,” he protested. “The wankers started with me, not the other way round.”

Harry raised a sceptical black brow. “And you just calmly walked away, did you?” Spike glared, going hot all over with embarrassment and lust at the thought that his foibles were exposed, that Harry knew him so well already. “I don’t want to hear about you at work again, Spike.” Finally Harry stepped away, but Spike knew better than to move from his position, flat against the wall. Harry reached out and curled a hand over Spike’s nape, pulling his head down a little. “You’re being punished for this.”

Spike shuddered a little in his grip, but he didn’t fight. He hadn’t come to London looking for someone to belong to, but he seemed to have found him anyway. He let Harry lead him, hand still on the back of his neck, to the old armchair. Harry sat down on it, and patted his lap. “Come on. Take the duster off and pull your jeans down – it’s a spanking for you.”

Spike’s lips tightened at the indignity, but he remembered what had happened the last time he disobeyed. Taking off the duster actually helped: there went Spike, there went the attitude and the shell. Pulling down his jeans, though; that was different. Harry was eyeing his arse like he was salivating, and it was awkward as hell trying to position himself over Harry’s knees with his jeans round his thighs.

But that was the point, wasn’t it? Making him feel awkward, and embarrassed. God, there was nothing quite like the indignity of being over someone’s lap, arse raised for some well-deserved slaps. He wriggled a little on Harry’s lap, pressing his hot face into the arm of the chair.

To Spike’s surprise, Harry didn’t immediately get stuck into spanking him, the way Angelus always had. Instead, he started rubbing his arse, smoothing his warm hand over the skin, rubbing fingers softly into his cleft. Spike moaned softly, loving the soft handling, even as Harry’s iron voice chastised him.

“I told you specifically not to get in trouble with the Aurors, Spike. Not even a week and you’ve already disobeyed me. I’m disappointed in you. I thought you’d do better, but apparently I was wrong. You’re going to learn.”

Spike squirmed a little, breath catching at Harry’s tone. He felt a tendril of fear work its way through his heart: and some guilt, too. He tried to tell himself off sternly for this Pavlovian reaction, but then – 

_Smack._ Harry’s warm, hard hand came down on his bare right arse cheek. Spike jumped at the bright, hot flare of pain: Harry’s soft touches had left his skin so sensitised that even one hard slap had him biting his lip. And Harry didn’t stop there.

At first he enjoyed it: spanking was just right for the sort of pleasure-pain he enjoyed most. Harry’s hard hand came down, and down again, repetitive, strong strokes; Spike hardened quickly and was soon left thrusting against Harry’s hard thigh with each blow. Each spank sent heat flaring through him.

But then Harry began to speak, and his tone made it impossible to forget that this was not for fun.

“You will never disobey me again. If you do, I’ll punish you.” He swatted Spike’s arse at each word, humiliating him with the lighter, almost contemptuous touches. But then the spanks hardened again, and they kept coming, and Spike wished to God they would stop.

“How dare you defy me, Spike? If I give you orders they’re for a good reason!” And after that Harry stopped talking, just spanked him and spanked him and spanked him, until Spike’s arse and thighs were burning and he was sure they must be so red and he was sniffling into the cloth and writhing under each blow and wailing at the hurt and his cock was so hard it was dripping.

Finally, Harry slowed, and stopped. Spike lay limply over his knees, damp face against his trousers, and panted. Harry’s fingers were trailing over his burning arse cheeks; Spike whined at the heat.

“Get up.”

Spike went limp for a moment in relief, then struggled up.

“Right, over my lap the other way.”

He laughed at Spike’s expression. “Did you think that was the end of it? Oh no, my boy, you’re going to learn good and well not to defy me. So you’ll lie over my knee in the other direction, and my left hand can have a go at spanking obedience into you.”

Spike whined and lay down, feeling horribly exposed as Harry took the opportunity, first, to strip his t-shirt and jeans from him. Then the hand came down again, reigniting the pain in his arse and thighs, knowing so exactly where to smack for the greatest pain – oh, that spot where his arse met his thighs was _aching_ – this had to stop.

“Please stop, Harry,” he snivelled, trying to sound beaten down: which wasn’t hard, considering how he was feeling. “Please, I’m sorry.”

The spanking paused, and Spike felt a moment of hope before –

_Smack!_

The spanks were harder than any before, crashing down on his poor arse, and Spike cried out.

“Don’t you dare try to trick me, brat. Do it again and we’ll try a cane.”

The swats kept coming, and Spike was really crying now, and he couldn’t stop his feet kicking like some fucking kid and then it stopped. 

After a moment, he dared to glance up.

“I’m sorry, Spike. But it’s for your own good.”

Spike snorted wetly. “I’ve heard that before.”

“Spike, what do you think would happen if the Aurors arrested you? You have to learn to obey me – in this more than anything else, because if you don’t you’ll get hurt. Don’t let that happen, Spike.”

The undeniable emotion in Harry’s voice made Spike pause. Harry really was worried for him; he didn’t want him to be hurt. And that made his spirits rise so high that he didn’t care, for a moment, how much his arse was aching.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I won’t do it again. Really.” He sniffed, and managed to choke back the remaining tears.

And then he felt hands on his body, and they weren’t hurting him this time: they lifted him and helped him settle, sitting on Harry’s lap, facing him. He gave a little grunt of pain when his arse came down, shifting; Harry chuckled.

“Sorry I’ve been such a wanker,” he said sincerely, meeting Harry’s eyes. “I didn’t... I’m not used to this. To people actually meaning it when they say they’re spanking me for my own good.”

Harry smiled, amused. “I know.” His big warm hands were rubbing soothingly up Spike’s back, and he couldn’t decided if it was more comforting or arousing. “I know it’s been hard. But I’m not like that.” A hand went to Spike’s chin, raising it. “I wouldn’t blow up your home. I’ll _be_ your home, if you’ll let me.”

Spike moaned, helplessly, at the words: the words that seemed to soothe his non-existent soul, that filled up spaces emptied by all the different creatures who’d hurt him. He leant in for the kiss, diving into it, never wanting to come up for air. Their lips slid together and their tongues tangled; Spike gave a small, broken moan when he felt Harry’s lubricated fingers brush against his hole. He raised his arse, giving implicit permission, and moaned into Harry’s mouth as he was lovingly prepared.

Then Harry’s warm hands were on his thighs, lifting him up. Spike sat himself slowly on Harry’s cock, biting his lower lip at the strain of stretching for it even as their eyes stayed locked. When he’d managed it, he started moving. He fucked himself, loving Harry’s hard cock inside him and the way Harry’s hands were free to touch him; loving that now, he couldn’t stop Harry from skating his hands over his body, or squeezing his burning arse. Harry’s hands came down, holding his hips tightly and controlling his motion; Spike flung back his head, gasping, as he was slowly drawn down Harry’s cock, body shuddering at the prostate stimulation. Then one warm hand went to the small of his back, fingers splayed, keeping him close and safe.

Spike kept moving, and felt Harry start to fuck back as much as he could, pushing his cock still further inside. “You’re gonna be mine, now,” Harry muttered. “Can you smell me after I’m gone, Spike? Can other vampires smell my mark on you?”

“Yes, yes,” Spike moaned against his neck, squirming as Harry tugged his nipples. “They all know... know I’m yours...”

“And you know? Know that you’re mine to fuck, mine to suck, mine to keep and stroke and punish and hurt, know you’ll never fight me because I’ll look after you? Know that you belong to me?”

“I... I...” Spike was panting, eyes glazed; he couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, too overwhelmed by everything that was happening to reply. Then Harry squeezed his arse and clamped down on his neck, and he was sucking and squeezing and fucking _owning_ Spike and it was all he could do to howl _“yes!”_ before he was –

Coming, untouched, and the world was turning white and he was clenching around Harry’s cock and it was so good, and then Harry toppled after him and they collapsed together, breathing onto each other’s neck and slicking sweat over each other and holding close, Spike feeling small and safe and sleepy on Harry’s lap.

Then Harry did something Spike had never imagined he would do. He tipped his head back, myopic green eyes intense on him. “So, my Spike... are you hungry?”

Spike felt his eyes go wide. “I – I – ”

“You must be. You lost that blood you bought, didn’t you? And you’re mine to take care of. So feed from me.”

Spike made an unidentifiable sound: half helpless moan, half predatory growl, and buried his face in Harry’s neck. 

The moment he tasted Harry’s blood was... indescribable. He’d never drunk a wizard’s blood before, not once in his entire existence, and it was... _fuck._ It was like swimming in tequila, it was like spinning in a star, it was having such creative, destructive power singing inside him and ringing in his ears. And the taste of it; the pride and possession and lust and love Harry was feeling, and all for him. He pressed closer, plastered to Harry’s chest, sucking and sucking and hearing himself making “mmm” sounds. Harry was stroking his hair, sending shivers down his spine, and fuck even Slayer’s blood hadn’t been like this.

He had to force himself to stop.

Finally he pulled off, licking his fangs to get the last of the blood before retracting them. “That was...”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Spike found himself being moved; Harry was standing and leading him to the bedroom. His head was fuzzy with orgasm and blood, and he let Harry take him by the hand, and lay him on the bed. When he was properly conscious again, the afterglow dying down, he was in his bed on his side, Harry facing him, and both of them equally naked.

Spike blinked sleepily, smiling when Harry did. Harry’s smile was indulgent, and his intense green eyes were soft. He reached out to touch Spike’s hair, and Spike even managed not to be embarrassed by the poodle foofiness.

“Hey, shouldn’t you be runnin’ off about now?” he said, voice going slow and slurred with tiredness. “Not that I want you to or anything, but don’t you have your hero duties ta be goin’ about?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Heroic duty’s not all it’s cracked up to be. You’re important too, Spike. And I’d rather do you than my duty any day.”

Spike snorted with laughter, and shut his eyes to better concentrate on the feeling of Harry’s long fingers stroking over his scalp. A purr began working its way up his throat.

“Besides, I’ve got a duty to you too. This is what vampire families do, isn’t it – sleep together during the day?”

“Yeah.” Spike felt warmth curling through his belly, like the heat of virgin’s blood. “You my new family, then?”

“I am if you want to play Daddy with me.” Harry reached out and tugged Spike into his arms. Spike made irritable little sounds at being moved, but let Harry arrange him as he liked: having his head on Harry’s shoulder, his own shoulders encircled by Harry’s strong arm, was nice, anyway. “You belong with me now. You know that, don’t you?”

Spike nestled closer, with a murmured not-answer. Declarations of love had never worked out for him well in the past; much better to stick to being a man of action, like Harry. He pressed a small kiss to Harry’s neck, and felt Harry’s arms tighten.

He drifted off to sleep in the grasp of Harry’s warm, immovable embrace.


End file.
